#my friends have lovely eyes:)

[mitathemita]

SURPRISE FANART FOR THE AMAZING WORMS @way2gosuperrstarr ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

(alt. versions under cut!!)

[jamiethebeeart]

Lineart by @ovytia-art which was such a blast to color - I love the entire vibe of all of them hanging out together so much @green-with-envy-phandom-event

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time to play. You are being sent away.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[feroluce]

I have finally finished 2.4 and oh my GOD watching Dan Heng be so protective of his friends nearly killed me, MY HEART.

And yes, the cutscene where he pushes the trailblazer out of the way and even cushions their fall with his own body, but I mean even before that! When he was already trying to protect them and March 7th from Feixiao and Lingsha!!

Because if you watch the dango trio throughout the main quest, you'll notice that they often position themselves in the same way, which is a detail that makes me super happy that Hoyo thought to include- when the three of them aren't evenly spaced, March 7th and the trailblazer tend to gravitate towards each other and stand very close together, frequently side-by-side. And by comparison, Dan Heng usually stands slightly away, and often even slightly behind them, where he can pull on their leashes to wrangle them keep an eye on them.

This is probably a habit learned through experience, since March 7th said during Belobog she is the "queen of unannounced disappearances" fjdksajfkldjsak

And of course at least a little bit of it is just done for like, aesthetic purposes. It's a video game. Things have to look nice for the player. The trailblazer and Dan Heng are the same height, March 7th is a bit shorter, and Yanqing is even smaller. It makes sense to have the trailblazer and Dan Heng stand on the ends, with March 7th and Yanqing in the middle, it just looks nicer and more balanced that way. But still! Even when they're accommodating for Yanqing in this quest, they still all arrange themselves the same way, almost every time!

But this changes after Dan Heng and Yanqing become suspicious of the visitors from the Yaoqing.

The dango trio still stand around relaxed and in their usual manner when they go to the artisanship delve and meet Skott,

but Dan Heng takes notice of Lingsha when she arrives, and he and Yanqing mentioned her specifically when discussing their worries.

Yanqing worrying so much about Jing Yuan got me right in the heart, he's such a good boy WEH

And when the four of them go out to the alchemy delve to meet Lingsha for tea, the pattern breaks. Suddenly Dan Heng is standing right up front, and even walks in and enters the scene before March 7th and the trailblazer to get to Lingsha before them. He stays a step in front of them the whole time, too.

And then when Dan Heng and the trailblazer have to go be interrogated by Feixiao! The same deal! Dan Heng walks in ahead of them and stays in front of them! Noticeably so! Enough that even Feixiao takes note and voices it!

Dan Heng is so so fiercely protective of his companions, and I love it, I adore hyper vigilance in the wake of trauma like this, I'm so excited to see what else he does in 2.5, I hope we either get to see him get fucked up or the trailblazer gets fucked up in his place, I wanna see them run through the meat grinder!!!

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[ewwww-what]

friendship so strong it grants you a sixth level spell slot. I have words to say.

[cgerice]

Been four years, time for this again.

With the trajectory these redraws are going, Merlin and Gwaine are going to end up just,,, making out. Full on sloppy style right in front of Arthur.

And honestly? Good for them they deserve it lmao

[fievell]

Trying my hand on this cutie ~ 🫶

[crismakesstuff]

pushing my deblan propaganda on here again

[spicy-apple-pie]

The BFFs ever

[spookberry]

the first time I drew these two(when I was 12) they were functionally the Color Guardian's version of Jessie and James,,,

[lilislegacy]

as a huge fan of both harry potter and percy jackson, it always rubs me the wrong way when people criticize harry by saying, “percy challenged the corrupt system and held them accountable, harry became part of it.” if the aim is to criticize jk rowling, i’m more than willing, but there are plenty of other decisions she made that actually deserve scrutiny. harry becoming an auror is not one of them. he didn’t join a flawed institution to become part of its corruption; he joined because he intended to FIX it. harry is extremely powerful, headstrong and determined, naturally drawn to mysteries, and has a deep commitment to justice. he was made to be an auror. and his goal is to make the wizarding world safer, to pursue dark wizards and death eaters, and to eliminate the threats that hang over the post-war wizarding world.

i love percy more than anything, and his choice to step back and live his life instead of becoming an immortal god was a brave and humble decision. i adore him for it. i love how our seaweed brain just wants to live his life in peace with his girlfriend and his besties. but harry, after all the betrayal and trauma he endured from the ministry, choosing to work within it — knowing how broken it was — took IMMENSE courage. he could have lived comfortably on his fortune or pursued a much more fun path in quidditch. but instead, he chose to be right there in the thick of it, determined to fix a broken system and put dangerous individuals where they belong. after everything he’s been through? that’s fucking amazing. it’s very on brand for harry.

so yeah i have endless admiration for percy for calling out corruption. but harry didn’t tell them to fix it. he chooses to fix it himself.

stop pitting my boys against each other. jk rowling has made a lot of mistakes in her life, many that i will never forgive her for. but making harry an auror was not one of them. he was born for it, and it would have been cheap and out of character to say he chose a career that’s fun or easy. because harry never backs down from a challenge, and especially not one that saves a life.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay! part 4 is here! still no dinner scene but hey, who doesn't like a telemachus and athena moment? huh? huh?

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5

*later that day* *telemachus walking around the palace ground and speaking with athena about poseidon & also tomorrows family dinner*

telemachus: so, you said lord poseidon is your uncle, right?

athena: *under her breath to herself* unfortunately

athena: *to telemachus this time* he is indeed my father’s brother.

telemachus: what does he like? what’s his favourite food? does eat with you and the other gods on olympus?

athena: *not expecting to play 40 questions about poseidon*

athena: HU- *coughs* why do you want to know? i thought you studied the gods when you were younger?

telemachus: i mean yeah, but those are other people’s words. what better way than to ask his actual family?

athena: *regretting this conversation, but answers because it is telemachus asking*

athena: if you are looking to strike a conversation with him, i can say for certain he will be interested in anything about his kingdom, the sea.

athena: as for food, i’m sure you know we gods, do not require mortal food for sustenance.

telemachus: *confused and stops walking*

telemachus: *turns and looks up at athena* but you ate breakfast this morning with us? and other meals?

athena: *stops walking also and laughs a little at his confused face*

athena: *ruffles telemachus’ hair* yes i did. we can find it enjoyable, whether it be an offering, during a feast or with…

athena: *stops ruffling his hair & smiles warmly at telemachus* family.

telemachus: *smiles*

telemachus: *continues walking*

athena: *continues with him*

telemachus: so, you still never said what his favourite food was?

athena: *shrugs* i don’t know, fish?

telemachus: *laughs* well we certainly have plenty of that!

*both continue talking and walking together*

*a short while later*

telemachus: ok so even though he does have a place to live on olympus, he doesn’t live there? how come?

athena: the sea is his domain, i would expect he feels more comfortable being always part of it. he knows everything that is happening on and in it then.

athena: also, i’m sure that having my father be king of the gods while also being his younger brother, is not something he would personally want to be around all the time.

athena: i think if it were my younger brother…

athena: *imagines ares as king of the gods* *shakes the thought immediately away*

athena: *waves hand in front of her in dismissal* never mind that thought.

telemachus: *eyebrow raised in confusion* uh ok.

athena: as i was saying, my father, while he is a great & wise king of us gods, occasionally having to sometimes deal with his...

athena: *thinks to the lighting shaped scars on her face and body*

athena: …games, does not always end up good for those who play them.

telemachus:

telemachus: so, he just prefers living in his palace under the sea basically?

athena: pretty much, yeah.

athena: maybe you could save some more of your questions for my uncle at dinner tomorrow?

athena: trust me, i’m sure he’d love to talk about himself.

telemachus: yeah, i’ve got so much to ask him!

telemachus: not just about himself, but how he and my father came to be such good friends!

athena: *laughing to herself as she knows the truth of said friendship*

athena: oh i too would like to know…

athena: *has a thought* little wolf, you’re helping your mother and the palace servants plan everything for tomorrow, correct?

telemachus: yeah i am!

telemachus: actually, i probably should go and find mother to discuss things.

athena: *gently holds his arm before he can run off* before you go, i believe it would be best if we sat your father and my uncle right next to each other don’t you think?

athena: i normally know your mother and father would sit together as king and queen, but this is a family dinner, is it not?

athena: *grins* friends should be with friends.

telemachus: *holds hand up for a high five* that sounds like a great idea athena! that means you’re next to me, right?

athena: *hive fives and then smiles at telemachus* of course.

telemachus: *smiling back* okay, i’ll go and let mother know!

telemachus: *waves before heading into the palace* bye ‘thena!

athena: *waves back* goodbye telemachus.

athena: *now to herself* oh tomorrow will be fun indeed.

[anxious-chaos-art]

Dying is hard :(

Alt version with (non graphic) blood bc I couldn’t help myself undercut

[desceros]

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

[starry-bi-sky]

*sighs*

*adds Danny!Martha to my Well, that's an obsession now wall*

*thinks a little*

*sighs²*

*also adds Danny!Martha to my That's a red flag, but I'm colorblind wall*

she's a ten but she's emotionally unavailable and perhaps. mildly deranged. just a little unhinged.